Who I Am: A dark psychological thriller with a stunning twist

by Sarah Simpson

  ‘I won’t miss her,’ she says confidently, ‘she lives only near here,’ she tells me.

  My stomach flips. ‘Does she? Well, that’s lovely, isn’t it? But you’d still better go back to daddy now.’ Behind me to the left I hear a chair being pushed backwards, then the rustle of jackets. ‘Quickly, Lily, isn’t it?’ She nods, swaying slightly at the same time. ‘Go quickly, Lily, show daddy what a good girl you are, show me too.’

  ‘Okay,’ she says, ‘because my mummy gets cross if Daddy’s late. My mummy and daddy live in different houses. My mummy lives there,’ she points out of the window, ‘but me and my daddy live in a big house,’ she stretches her arms out wide, ‘in the fields, with the cows.’

  ‘Do you now, how lovely! But I really think you ought to go now, Lily,’ I tell her.

  ‘Okay,’ she chirps again, ‘you can have these.’ Doll like hands drop a number of sugar sachets onto my lap before she skips off smiling. I can breathe. But now I also understand, he’s separated from his wife or at least from Lily’s mum. He only ever loved one person, maybe?

  It’s a while after they’ve left before I return to normal, having travelled through each and every conceivable emotion, I’m exhausted. But, I need to continue with my planned task for today. Another piece of advice from my therapist, if you’ve things to do which may be emotionally challenging, try and be away from your home, somewhere neutral in context, with distractions around you. I pull my laptop from my oversized bag along with my notebook, I don’t have so long left now. Inspecting my watch, I discern – less than an hour before Drew arrives, ready to talk about menus and last month’s goings-on. Selling up after this season is high on the agenda too, what with Drew’s diagnosis predicament, he wants some time to do the things he hasn’t got round to, ensuring all is ship-shape is more important than ever. I boot up, open Facebook, then the notebook with the scatter diagram I’m collating. The meetings in London have filled in many gaps but I still need to build on what I have. Why do people so freely expose such delicate comings and goings of their lives? Noting her home as I flick through the images, I’m imaging the best locks and bolts to secure it from intruders, yet she flaunts her most intimate details to the entire world via social media. You’d think she’d be more careful but then, why should she? She probably wouldn’t think she had anything to hide, butter wouldn’t melt, which is probably why I didn’t see who she really was. On my screen, the small angelic face of a new-born gazes into her eyes, she must be nearly in secondary school by now. There’s another tug in my gut, I swallow hard – I’ve missed all this. The horrible gaping hole I keep stepping over is now so wide open, sufficiently big enough for me to fall in to.

  This week, I travel to London again, for the last time before our ‘residential.’ I need to up my game, Cornwall is an unexpected windfall and it could potentially change everything. Although, I’m not sure how I will feel being back there after all these years. It has to be done, if I’m finally to take a slice of her life, her husband is my best shot. Luckily for me, he’s quite a catch – not too much of an effort, his children look lovely too. Listen to me, I sometimes hate the way my anger is twisting my outlook, isn’t this how this all fell apart in the first instance.

  What will they call me, Aunty Cam? Mummy? She has done this to me, forced me to sink to these depths.

  57

  London 2017

  Kyle

  Kyle dials the number, then instantaneously ends the call.

  Decides on an alternative number before talking himself out of this too. Hoping to God he ended it before it registered as a missed call her end. He leaves his mobile on the sideboard near the window overlooking flickering city lights, moving over to the other side of the room, hesitates for a few seconds before pouring himself a large whisky. Like this last weekend in Cornwall wasn’t enough to leave a damp feeling in the pit of his stomach. Now the school incident. He tried, when he was with her, he tried to be that soft considerate husband – it went unnoticed. Andi is rapidly becoming a huge worry, what happened to the carefree, sharp, witty wife he once knew? He appreciates she’s currently spooked by the goings on, or at least, the alleged goings on. Alleged? Come to think of it, he hasn’t seen any evidence of this so-called crackpot. At the back of his mind, he’s acutely aware of the trauma of her past, losing two close friends in some tragic accident, could she be suffering from some kind of aftershock, or that whatsit syndrome – survivors’ guilt or whatever it is? And is gradually losing her mind because of this? Maybe she’s imagining people are pointing the finger, are out to make her pay, but all the time it’s only her own guilt?

  His marriage is precariously balanced on moving ground. Now, with the school episode, there’s the children to worry about. It pains him to admit he’s worried about them because of Andi’s state of mind. He keeps pushing the repulsive thoughts away but the truth hammers away at his conscience. Andi would never do anything deliberately to harm them but she’s somewhere else at the moment, on some island with no way of reaching her. The drink issue. However hard he tries to skirt around this, the fact is that her drinking is out of control. He’d hoped sending her to Eve would help, that Eve would reach her before she slipped any further. But then, if she manages to pull the wool over Eve’s eyes, denies the truth as much as she does with him – what chance does she have of changing anything. Andi’s so God damn stubborn, with her insistence on independence.

  He takes a long relieving swig of whisky, not missing the irony of how much he needs this drink. Releasing his tie, throwing it on to the unmade bed, he gathers up the file he should be working on, then casts it aside on the bed. Is this all his fault? Working away from home can hardly help. Maybe, once this current project is thrashed out, he’d talk to HR, take some time off on compassionate grounds. Tell them his wife is falling apart at the seams? And he’s worried about the welfare of his children? The truth hurts. Plonking himself onto the edge of the bed, he drains the remnants of the glass. The trill of his mobile breaks his thoughts and he saunters across the room to identify the caller. If it’s the office, he’ll silence it. If it’s Andi, then…?

  Sighing heavily, he takes the call, his heart rate quickening, wishing he’d not answered in the first place.

  ‘Hi,’ he says.

  ‘Ky? Hi? You called?’

  ‘I did – sorry, thought I’d cut it off before it registered your end.’

  ‘Oh? I’m nothing more than an accident call then?’

  Kyle smiles into the hand set. ‘That’s not what I meant, I just changed my mind about why I was calling. Kind of sorted it out in my own head.’ He lies. ‘Sorry Carol, I shouldn’t have disturbed you.’

  ‘You haven’t,’ she says. ‘I always love to hear from you. As a matter of fact, you’ve rescued me from the joys of sorting the washing into colour co-ordinated piles. And all the truly exciting stuff I get up to!’

  The thought of Carol doing this felt oddly comforting, she’s a brilliant mum, quite put on really. Kyle pictures her looking worn out, lacking in the life she always had about her. ‘Sounds exhilarating!’ he says.

  ‘Hey, don’t knock it, it’s the highlight of my day!’

  ‘Joking apart it does sound pretty therapeutic, after the day, no – the week, I’ve had.’

  ‘Oh? Things not so great again?’

  ‘Hmm. Been better.’

  ‘Anything you want to talk about?’

  He pauses, thinking how much he’d love to be selfish, pour his heart out but then decides he really can’t put on Carol any further. He shakes his head as if she can see him. ‘No, you’re fine. I’ll cope. No big deal.’ He adds, ‘anyway, sounds like you’ve your hands full tonight. Colour dividing, I’d hate to be responsible for Allan’s pink boxers.’ Kyle flicks his wrist over to look at his watch, the children are probably already in bed, Allan will undoubtedly be asleep in his TV chair, exhausted from all the outdoor escapades. In the background he hears Carol clinking around, imagining her busying hers
elf, multi-tasking, what now sounds like emptying a dishwasher. His wife is perhaps crashed on the sofa by now. ‘No, I’ll catch you soon,’ he says. ‘I shouldn’t have called so late.’

  ‘It’s about Andi, isn’t it?’ Carol almost whispers.

  ‘Andi? What makes you say that?’ He doesn’t really understand why he’s questioning the blatantly obvious. Guilt? Is it guilt he feels? Talking about his wife, again, behind her back? With Carol again? He rakes his hands through his hair. ‘Andi, yep, I called about Andi. It’s that obvious isn’t it?’

  ‘Afraid so, kiddo.’

  ‘What a bloody mess this is all becoming, Carol. What a bloody mess.’

  ‘Go on,’ she says. ‘What’s on your mind. You know you can talk to me.’

  ‘I’m worried, really worried about her, about us, about the kids. All of it. If it’s not bad enough, she’s down there, and I’m stuck up here. I’m sorry, Carol, I didn’t know who else to talk to about it.’

  ‘Oh shush, you’re fine. I think we know each other better than that. It’s not a problem, you know this, Ky. Look, has something else happened?’

  Kyle, pulls the plum coloured ceiling to floor curtains to one side to gaze over the vastness of city life. Before wandering back over to the oversized bed and throwing himself onto his back. ‘I wouldn’t know where to begin,’ he says.

  ‘You were home this weekend too, what could possibly have happened in these last few days? You seemed okay when you collected the kids. At least you did.’

  ‘Nothing specifically.’ Another lie? ‘Look did you notice anything odd about Andi? How distracted, almost jumpy she was?’

  ‘To be honest, Ky, I’m used to it, her strange behaviour, I mean. And before you go getting all defensive on me, please remember, she’s my friend too. Not only that – you’re the one calling me regarding her odd behaviour, not the other way around. Okay?’

  ‘I wasn’t going to become defensive,’ despite appreciating he was. It was one thing for him to have concerns about his wife, another altogether when others made comments. Even someone as close as Carol. ‘Look, I’m beyond worried about her,’ dare he mention he’s also worried about his children? Would this be the ultimate betrayal of his wife?

  ‘Me too, and I hate to say it, Kyle, but also for those little kiddies,’ she says. Reading his mind.

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘I was thinking, now hear me out, this might sound odd, but – how much do you know about her past, other than the obvious?’

  ‘What do you mean? Her past?’

  ‘Well, you know. With all this she’s been saying, about being stalked, by someone who died when she was little more than a teenager. Has she talked to you much about those times? Because, she’s really rather edgy about it all if I bring it up.’

  Kyle quickly mulls this over. Andi hates talking about her past, she even avoids him talking about his, sometimes it’s as if neither them existed before the age of twenty-four. ‘Not a lot, I suppose. Only that she lost a couple of friends in some kind of freak accident on the beach. She’s never really spoken in detail about it. Think it’s always been too painful for her, well, it would be, wouldn’t it? Losing your friends like that.’

  ‘Hmm, she never talks about it at all with me. I’ve always found this weird. You’d think she’d want to, need to, it’s been long enough since. And now all this about some dead stalker. She’s so, kind of fragmented.’

  ‘Perhaps a little harsh that, Carol.’ He feels his defences rising. ‘She’s obviously still genuinely perturbed by the entire thing. Nothing odd about that. I’d guess it’s pretty normal.’

  ‘What, you don’t think it’s odd, someone’s come back from the dead only to become a dedicated Twitter follower?’

  ‘Don’t be facetious. Clearly that’s strange.’ He pauses for a moment. ‘Do you think someone really has made contact with her, pretending to be the dead friend?’

  ‘How do you mean? It’s what she’s said they’ve done, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes but… I don’t know, could she be imagining it? I was thinking about what you mentioned ages ago, you know the – survivors’ guilt, thing. Or…’

  ‘Let’s be honest, shall we, what you really mean is, is she becoming paranoid because of the drink?’

  ‘Carol. Please.’ Kyle sits up to prop himself against the pillows. This conversation is not what he needs, he wishes to God he hadn’t started it.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ky, but sometimes the truth hurts. And, since you’ve brought this up, yes I’ve wondered the same. Is it just paranoia? Drink, stress, trauma or otherwise, all ends up the same doesn’t it.’

  She’s right but he doesn’t have the heart to acknowledge it.

  ‘I wasn’t kidding before either, Ky, I’m proper concerned for your children, because of your wife’s, my friend of old’s, drinking habits.’

  ‘Ouch, Carol, don’t say that. For Christ sake, friend of old?’

  ‘Well, she doesn’t treat me as a friend any more, unless it suits. She tells me nothing about what’s going on in that screwed up mind of hers. Not in the last few weeks she hasn’t anyway. What you see definitely isn’t what you’re getting.’ Kyle keeps quiet, unsure of how to address this, feeling heaps worse now than before he made the call. He hears Carol sigh, wondering what’s coming next. ‘Sorry, Ky, this isn’t what you called for is it. But, you know what – I worry about you and sometimes I feel so angry, she really has no idea just how good she has it. Sometimes, I think she’s incredibly selfish. Sometimes, I think I don’t even know her. Sometimes, I think – she doesn’t deserve you or your lovely family. She seriously needs to wake up.’

  Kyle realises this is a direct echo of how he was feeling on his return from Cornwall, Monday morning. Who the hell is his wife these days? The Andi he knows is rapidly slip, sliding away. ‘No need for apologies. I did ask. I get why you feel the way you do. Only, to be honest, it wasn’t what I wanted to hear.’

  Carol’s voice lowers to little more than a whisper. ‘You know, Ky, how it is for me, when people are, you know – elusive. It reminds me of my father and what a double crossing, stinking arsehole he was. Leading a double life, lying to everyone. Coming home playing happy bloody families with us, all the time having another family in a different county. Bloody years that when on for. I can’t stand cheating liars.’

  ‘What? Whoa. Hang on a minute, Carol, slow down will you. I’ve never so much as intimated that Andi was having some sordid affair. You’ve toddled off on one, all on your own there, all on your own. Where the bloody hell has this come from?’

  ‘Why? Why haven’t you considered it?’ she snaps. ‘You don’t know who she is any more, I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your concerns, so why not? Can you be certain, Ky, certain she’s being faithful to you? My father used to confabulate all manner of stories to throw us off his trail. Her behaviour is one hundred per cent consistent with his in many ways. Maybe, just maybe – she’s not drinking alone at night as you’ve been thinking.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, what about the stalker stuff, why would she make that up if she was having an affair?’

  ‘I don’t know, so she’d have good reason to seek help from another? A shoulder to cry on, show us how badly she craves attention? It all comes down to the same thing at the end of the day, lies and delusional behavior in a make believe life. No different to what he did.’

  Kyle feels the skin on his face begin to burn. The idea of his wife cheating on him, despite denying it internally, rebuking Carol’s words as venomous poison, she did have a point. Him and Andi were becoming so detached from each other, some would argue an affair was a strong possibility. He was also thinking about his recent rendezvous with Camilla. How much he looks forward to their stolen hours together. How happy and relaxed he feels with Camilla. How much he was looking forward to the residential.

  ‘You still there, Ky?’

  ‘I am.’ Is all he can manage.

  ‘Oh, double shit. I’m sorry lov
e, I’ve done it again, haven’t I? Blurted my big mouth at you like that. Wasn’t fair of me. Sometimes, I think I need to glue my bloody gob together, I really do.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ He reassures her. ‘Wasn’t anything I’d considered before, that’s all.’ Surely not, he thinks. But why not? It could make perfect sense. And how is he any better? The double shame of feeling indignant.

  ‘But now I’ve sowed a seed, haven’t I? And now I feel truly dreadful about it. Please try and forget what I’ve said. I’m sure…’ Carol sighs out loudly. ‘I’m sure she’s only working through a rough patch, stressed out her mind and you know, she really does seem to be…’ she pauses, ‘drinking a little more than she ought, shall we say, to compensate, you know, for the stress.’

  Kyle finishes his phone call to Carol, switches on the TV, hoping to distract his thoughts, deciding on an old episode of Top Gear. Now he thinks of it, all the signs are there. The way she’s been pulling away from him, only really talking to him on a, need to basis. Not being in places she’s supposed to be. The excessive drinking, is this because, he feels his stomach roll, is this because she’s entertaining a guest. Having the time of her life, not drinking away her sorrows? In our home? How would he know? Carol has hit the proverbial nail on the head. Does he recognise his wife any more?

  How would he know what she’s up to and who she’s with?

  58

  I hate being the reliable one, the one everyone turns to, no one ever expects me to be down, upset, tired, unable to cope, always the constant variable in life. Always the one to stumble on in the hour of need. Good old reliable, worn out cardigan.

  Just because I don’t flaunt my problems doesn’t mean I don’t have any. Just because it always seems like I’m coping, doesn’t mean I am. Just because I never reach out for help, doesn’t mean I don’t need any.

  No one ever asks. I’ve always needed to help myself. What was wrong with me? What did I do wrong? Was I so unlovable?